บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire's Ex-wife Never Looks Back : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

Ella’s Point of View My hands trembled as I clipped my silver earrings, the mirror reflecting a woman caught between duty and desire. The morning of Shawn’s surgery loomed, my mind already tracing the delicate steps of his aortic repair, but last night’s garden walk—his gentle apology, his vow to shield me from Marcus—had left a warmth I couldn’t shake. His friendship, his teasing smile, felt like a lifeline in Chicago’s shadows, yet the fear of Marcus, a predator in this city, kept my heart locked. I smoothed my navy blazer, my long black hair pulled into a neat bun, and steadied my breath. I was here to save Shawn’s life, then flee to Lily, my heart’s anchor, before Marcus’s influence could find me. A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I opened it to find Shawn, his lean frame relaxed in a gray sweater, his blue eyes sparkling despite the faint pallor of his illness. He leaned against the frame, a mischievous grin lighting his face. “Morning, Dr. Harper,” he sai

Ella’s Point of ViewMy heart was still heavy as the SUV pulled back into Shawn Hayes’s North Shore estate, the morning’s visit to Rosehill Cemetery lingering like a quiet ache. Kneeling at my mother’s grave—Miranda Harper’s name etched in cold marble, the star pendant I’d left as a gift to her—had stirred a grief I’d buried for years, but Shawn’s presence, his gentle touch on my shoulder, had been a light in that darkness. I glanced at him beside me, his profile softened by the car’s dim interior, his blue eyes catching mine with a warmth that made my pulse skip. Chicago’s shadows, Marcus’s looming threat, felt distant for a moment, but the clock was ticking—Shawn’s surgery was hours away, and my role as his surgeon demanded focus, not feelings.We stepped out into the mansion’s marble foyer, the air cool and hushed, the weight of the day settling between us. Shawn paused, turning to me, his smile soft but tinged with something deeper, a quiet intensity. “Ella, you okay after the cem

Ella’s Point of ViewThe morning sun spilled through the guest suite’s windows, casting golden streaks across my packed suitcase, but my heart was a tangle of emotions, heavy with the ache of leaving. Seattle called—Lily’s laughter, our quiet life, the safety I’d built far from Chicago’s ghosts. Yet Shawn Hayes’s mansion, with its marble halls and his warm presence, had become a haven I wasn’t ready to abandon. His surgery was a success, his coarctation of the aorta repaired, his life no longer hanging by a thread, but the past few days—his laughter, his promises, the way he’d stood by me at Miranda’s grave—had woven him into my world. I smoothed my sweater, my long black hair loose over my shoulders, and checked my reflection, my eyes betraying a longing I couldn’t name.A knock at the door broke my reverie, soft but deliberate. I opened it to find Shawn, seated in a sleek wheelchair, his face pale but bright with that familiar grin, his blue eyes sparkling despite the strain of re

Shawn’s Point of ViewThe silence in the mansion was a heavy shroud, echoing off the marble floors and glittering chandeliers, a void where Ella’s presence had once glowed. Her jasmine scent lingered, faint but piercing, a cruel ghost of the warmth she’d left behind just hours ago. The memory of her standing in my room, her long black hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes locking with mine in a moment that teetered on the edge of a kiss, burned in my chest. Now, the guest suite was empty, her laughter silenced, and the sprawling estate felt hollow, a monument to loneliness I hadn’t noticed until she’d filled it with light. I shifted in my wheelchair, the ache from my recent aortic surgery a dull throb, but the real pain was deeper, a longing I couldn’t shake. Ella had changed everything.I’d been alone for years, ever since my parents’ car accident a decade ago, drowning in work to outrun the grief, the coarctation of the aorta that weakened my body but not my drive. Boardrooms

Shawn’s Point of ViewThe mansion was a hollow shell, its silence a taunt, each echo of my footsteps a reminder of Ella’s absence. Her jasmine scent had faded, but her face—her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes soft with that almost-kiss—burned in my mind, a fire that fueled my panic. Chavez’s call hours ago had shattered everything: Ella hadn’t boarded her flight to Seattle. She’d vanished from O’Hare’s restroom, her purse left behind, no trace of her. My heart pounded, not from the fresh scar of my aortic surgery but from a dread that gripped me tighter than any medical chart could explain. Marcus Carter—Ella’s ex, the shadow she’d fled—had to be behind this. Her fear of him, the way she’d tensed at his name, pointed to one truth: he’d taken her. I had to find her, and I had to do it now.I paced the study, my laptop open, security reports and airport contacts scattered across the desk. The room’s opulence—mahogany shelves, Lake Michigan’s gray expanse beyond the win